Rehearsals
by lost feather
Summary: Oneshot. Holmes helps Watson to rehearse his vows. Holmes/Watson. One-sided, mostly.


**Rehearsals.**

There were two figures in the cluttered room, declaring the oaths of the eternal bond of marriage. One was Watson.

And the other was most definitely _not_ Mary.

"Honestly, you're far too uptight, if you ask me," shrugged Holmes, waving his hands a little to disperse the smoke rising from his new… _experiment. _Watson was jumpy and irritable, and he winced at the movement, which led Holmes to suspect that he had been drinking and was currently suffering from a slight hangover.

Watson took a deep breath to calm himself, and at once started coughing from the smoke. "What on earth have you been doing up here, anyway?" he asked, and Holmes thought he might have heard a hint of concern in his dearest friend's voice. Or maybe that was the very small optimist in him.

"Testing the effects of different chemicals on prolonging the length of a deep sleep that imitates the appearance of death," Holmes said calmly, "The solution Lord Blackwood was using. I dare say I might need to use it to surrender myself to a long slumber if you are indeed to marry – what was her name again?"

Watson nearly punched Holmes there and then. "Holmes! You are-"

"Dashing?"

"Incorrigible!" Watson thumped the table next to them harder than was strictly necessary, in Holmes' opinion. "Just help me with this, please! It's all I ask, and then I will be out of your hair for good."

Holmes turned away, shuffling through the papers he was reading from. Watson didn't realise that his words had dealt a far more painful blow than if he had simply hit Holmes. "_As if that would please me," _Holmes thought mirthlessly, "_to have him gone! Nothing could be further from the truth."_

"Very well, old friend," Holmes amended softly, throwing Watson a little. Holmes was very rarely so – well. Watson never thought he'd hear the word _'gentle' _within a mile of Holmes. "Where were we?"

"I'll just do it from the beginning." He paused, and Holmes read the paper as the words on them tumbled none-too-smoothly from Watson's mouth.

"I, John Watson, take thee-"

"Sherlock Holmes," Holmes interrupted brazenly.

"Holmes. You. Are. Not. _Helping_," hissed Watson through clenched teeth. Holmes merely shrugged, smirking somewhat. He was no longer monitoring the paper, but instead was watching Watson with a curious expression in his eyes. Watson had rarely seen it before – it was something akin to fear, but not quite.

"-Mary Morstan, to be my lawfully wedded wife, knowing…"

"In my heart you will be…" prompted Holmes.

"In my heart you will be, my…"

"My constant friend, my faithful partner in life…" Holmes could almost laugh at the very, very rich irony.

"My constant friend, my faithful partner in life, and… and my one true love. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Holmes blinked. "I'm sorry, is this a problem? You'll know you'll have dozens of people looking at you during the ceremony, so I'm not sure you should be fazed by me looking at you now, in the comfort of our home."

"Your home," muttered Watson.

"Our home, in past, present and future. Even if you're not living here Watson, the door will always be open for you, old friend."

Watson felt_… touched_. "Thank you, Holmes," he said seriously. There was a short silence, and then, "But you were looking at me oddly, you know. Don't do that on the day."

"Watson, I looked at you in exactly the same way I always look at you."

"Yes, well. It was unnerving, just then. Er… I pledge in the presence of God… to stay by your side as your faithful husband, in joy-"

"You forgot a line," interjected Holmes. "You forgot, 'in sickness or in health…'"

"_Through drunken hazes and drug-induced stupors…" _Holmes thought to himself, _"Through gunshots and broken limbs and all of those experiments that did not work out quite as planned…"_

"In sickness or in health, then," amended Watson, "Through joy and sorrow, as well as through the good times and bad…"

Holmes blinked, because even as he read the words and heard them in Watson's mouth, he knew they were all wrong for who they were intended for, and he wanted to jump out the window – (well, leaving by the front door would not have been quick nor dramatic enough,) – and pay someone to take Miss Mary Morstan very, very far away. Africa, maybe. Perhaps America – but even the other side of the world seemed too close. If only…

"I promise to love you, and provide for your needs as best I can, protect you from harm, always be open and honest with you, and cherish you for as long as we both shall live."

"You seem to remember the ending well enough." Holmes commented. For all the raging ideas and emotions inside, he had the tone of someone who had been forced to listen to a rather boring lecture.

"Right, well. That's good, at least." Watson leant over and checked what was written on the paper in Holmes' hand.

"You could have just asked for it, I doubt you can read upside down," said Holmes in an annoyed voice, whilst picking up the definite scent of alcohol, previously masked by the smoke, and something else – some sort of flower? Roses, maybe. It was hard to say. He must have been to the florist. Perhaps he had wanted to buy Mary flowers. It didn't appear as though he had, however. Holmes noticed that Watson was far too close to him, really. He shouldn't have been able to smell anything at all in this smoke.

"Alright, I think I have memorized the vows," said Watson moving away before Holmes had been able to justify moving a little closer to work out _exactly_ what flower it was he was smelling, "Now-"

Holmes turned the page abruptly. "After the vows… you take your ring from your best man, and-"

"And I hope he shall not forget it on the day."

"Ah, but what if he didn't forget it, but lost it mysteriously? Only for it to turn up in several years time, of course. Within a rather old and somewhat dusty, deflated rugby ball-"

"So you have been keeping it from me! Is it not bad enough that I shall not be reclaiming several articles of clothing of mine, since you seem to have taken a liking to them?"

"Ah, well. Not _your _clothing, Watson, but rather-"

"Don't give me that again, Holmes! What is mine is MINE, and not yours!"

"Is it Mary's?" Holmes asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Is it Mary's too? What is yours?"

Watson found himself rather at a loss at where Holmes had taken the argument. Usually, he did his best to avoid the topic of Mary (also known as 'Miss Morstan,' 'What's-her-name-again' and, when in a particularly vile mood, '_that one,') _and Watson couldn't remember easily many occasions when Holmes had brought her up of his own accord.

"I suppose so, yes," said Watson cautiously. "Although I really don't seem to think Mary should want to use my clothes, or have use for my rugby ball."

"Ah," smiled Sherlock Holmes, "Well then. If you can have another person in shared possession of, say, your money and estate, then why can you not have shared ownership with another over such lowly things as a rugby ball and clothes?"

"Holmes! Really, do you expect me to allow you to drop in to our residence _so you may borrow my clothes?_ Or perhaps you would prefer to simply call _my _clothes _your _clothes, and just take the blasted things from me once and for all!"

Both were silent for a while, the tension in the air palpable. Holmes was the first to break it, saying in an unaffected manner, "Let's drop the issue, Watson, and focus on this for now." He waved around the papers in his hand.

Watson scowled. "Fine. What comes next?"

Holmes held up the ring. "Well. _With this ring I thee wed. Wear it as a symbol of our love and commitment."_

"Do I say that, or Mary?"

"You both say it, first you, and then Mary."

"Ah. Give me the ring, Holmes."

"Please."

Watson made an annoyed noise in his throat, and grabbed the ring from Holmes. He held it up and recited, eyes on the ceiling, "With this ring I wed thee… no, I thee wed. Wear it as a symbol of our love and commitment."

"Good. You're supposed to place it on the bride's finger as you say it, though."

"Fine, whatever." Watson made for Holmes' hand, but Holmes twitched and stepped back. "What?"

"What? Oh. Nothing. See, if I was… Miss Morstan, then she might have flinched, or, perhaps you may have fumbled with the ring, so it really is essential that you practice now and don't pause in what you are doing, or it will look bad, Watson."

There was something slightly off about his voice, or the words, and Watson looked up at Holmes properly. "Are you alright? You look a little pale. Or maybe it's just the lighting. Or whatever it is you've been inhaling in here."

"Fine," laughed Holmes breezily, "Now,"

Watson slid the ring onto Holmes' finger quickly, while speaking his lines. Holmes looked a little taken aback. "Then what?"

"I'm sorry?" Holmes snapped out of his daze.

Watson sighed. "Then what? Is that it?"

Holmes nodded, letting his hand slip away from Watson's, the ring still on. "Then the bride does the same, the priest says some generic nonsense about you two being happily married, and-"

"That's it? I'm glad!" exclaimed Watson, the first smile Holmes had seen since he had entered gracing his face. "Really, I shouldn't be, but I am nervous about this. Thank you, Holmes," he said, walking towards the door.

"What?" said Holmes, surprised. "Surely you aren't leaving already? I think you had better go over your lines again… I don't know if they're very well memorized…"

"I'll be fine, I think," said Watson. "After all the things you and I have faced, I don't think something like this should scare me."

Holmes frowned, but then his face relaxed into a smile. "Ah well. If you blunder tomorrow, you'll have none to blame but yourself."

"Holmes!"

Sherlock Holmes grinned, and escorted Watson to the door. "Well, I'll see you soon, I suppose."

"Don't you dare lose that ring, Holmes."

Holmes clenched his hand. "It will stay on my finger until then, Watson."

Watson looked at Holmes, slightly amused. "Ah well. As long as you don't cut off and throw your finger into the Thames, I suppose that's alright. And don't come into the wedding with that on your finger, either – I don't really want to explain that to Mary."

"No promises about that, Watson," joked Holmes as he shut the door, leaning against the wood and closing his eyes, listening to Watson as he walked to the front and out into the street.

---

As soon as John Watson stepped onto the street, he felt as though something was partially missing. He wanted to go back. He breathed in the none-too-fresh London air, and thought, "_Damn. Holmes must have put some kind of addictive drug in that smoke."_

_---_

As soon as the last echoes of Watson had left, Sherlock Holmes slid down the wood he was leaning against, laughing silently at himself. "_You may kiss the bride, Watson," _Holmes thought mockingly.

**AN// Well. Yes. That's it. I hope you liked it!~ I did love this movie so much. And this pairing. I just had to contribute. The wedding vows are just partially copied from the internet, and I don't know if that's very accurate to something they may have said for a wedding back then… so forgive my inaccuracy, if that's the case. Also, I'm not entirely sure if it was accurate to infer Mary had any ownership of the land/estate, either… oh well. Please R&R! Thank you for reading!**


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